


Like lovers do

by withered



Series: In another life [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bottom Tony Stark, But reader discretion is advised, It doesn't get explicit, M/M, Morning After, Somnophilia, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: Bucky thought he managed to bag a convincing Tony Stark lookalike whichthank you Universe for throwing me a bone, I’d never have been able to get a shot at the real thing so I’m happy as clams that you’ve thrown a doppelganger my wayexcept –Tony Stark is actually in his bed.





	Like lovers do

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: That one-night stand you took home woke up, looked at you and said, “Oh, you’re hot” before going back to sleep.

 

 

Bucky thought he managed to bag a convincing Tony Stark lookalike which _thank you Universe for throwing me a bone, I’d never have been able to get a shot at the real thing so I’m happy as clams that you’ve thrown a doppelganger my way_ except –

Tony Stark is actually in his bed.

Tony Stark is actually in his bed.

Tony Stark is actually in his bed.

This is not a drill.

Bucky almost talks himself out of reaching for him, just to touch, just to confirm the other man’s corporeal form, but he can’t because _Tony Stark is actually in his fucking bed and this cannot be real._

But Tony is as warm as he looks, kissed by the sun in every way.

While Bucky’s lily-white skin would match the sheets of his bed (if it had been washed and starched to hell within the last week, which it hadn’t), Tony’s olive complexion contrasts deliciously – spreading down his supple build like liquid gold, polishing his skin from the nape of his neck to the sweeping valley of his back to the roundness of his ass – and oh god, _Tony’s ass._

He’d bitten into it like the perfect apple it was, there are faint teeth marks to prove it, and scattered purple hickeys still blooming like flowers across the man’s skin – marking him like a roadmap of Bucky’s favourite attractions on the continent of Tony’s body.

Bucky follows its path with his fingers, quietly greeting the muscles that flex subtly beneath him until he’s cupping one of Tony’s cheeks, the tip of his finger just tracing the puffy rim, his greedy hole pulling Bucky’s probing digit in – welcoming him with a loving embrace that makes his dick ache with the mewl that Tony responds with. His hips lift in an unsubtle grind against the mattress that makes Bucky’s stomach clench and his fingers to crook, Tony’s expression sighing in ecstasy.

He swallows down his groan just as Tony moves in his sleep, body sinuous as he shifts from one position to the next, changing the angle of Bucky’s finger until he’s almost a knuckle in, chest pressed against Tony’s.

Despite the sinful tableau he presents, Tony is practically angelic in sleep.

 The dark fan of his lashes barely flickering against the apple of his cheek, the surface creased with pillow-lines, night-black hair curling against his temple, beard adorably mussed as it frames his sweet lipped mouth where it hangs slightly open, drooling a little; Bucky decides, then and there, hallucination or not, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Slowly, he eases his finger out, palming his ass as he retreats, and that’s when Tony’s expression crumples in a grimace, his groan of displeasure, nonetheless, sending a spike of heat up Bucky’s spine to go along perfectly with the ice he feels that’s been thrown down his back when Tony’s eyes open and rest on him.

It’s relief in a lot of ways, but still baffling.

It had occurred to Bucky, briefly, that he'd have a dead man in his bed after a night of enthusiastic and vigorous sex. Which would be par the course with his luck, and honestly, far more believable than _actually picking up Tony Stark_  at Steve’s art gallery opening, and somehow managing to convince the genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist to spend the night with him.

He feels like he should apologize.

Tony Stark has slept with movie stars and athletes and playmates and Nobel Prize winners and-and Bucky doesn’t even remember when he last changed his sheets.

Something Tony doesn’t seem to care for as he blinks at Bucky languidly, whiskey brown eyes lined with the prettiest lashes, his lip curling at the corners in a sleepy smile.  “Oh,” he murmurs, voice sleep-soft, “you’re as hot as I remember.”

“Uh…thank you,” Bucky manages, tips of his ears burning as his gaze skitters away in embarrassment.

Jesus, what even happens now?

Does he leave?

No, you idiot, Bucky scolds himself, _you live here._

Does he ask Tony to leave?

Bucky bites his lower lip, gaze returning to the man next to him who’s taken to turning over onto his side properly, white sheet sliding across honeyed skin to reveal taut abdominal muscles, sharp hip bones and a provocative path of dark hair leading to a pink head, pulled tight and shiny already, peering up at Bucky from the edge of the sheet.

Bucky can feel the velvety ghost of it against his thumb, remembers the sticky slick of precum and the vibrating rumble of Tony’s groan.

He never did get to put him in his mouth, and he licks his lips at the thought.

As if he can read exactly what’s going through his mind, Tony chuckles, and Bucky follows the subtle contractions to the smattering of dark chest hair before being distracted by the flex of Tony’s bicep, his arm propped up to support his head as long, dexterous fingers drag through the tangled dark curls.

Bucky is startled to realize he’s staring at him like an idiot when an alarm from somewhere in the room begins to wail, and then it occurs to Bucky that Tony is equally disconcerted by the interruption, his adorably dazed expression flicking.

Tony’s lips thin for a moment before he calls out, “I get it Jarvis.”

From somewhere in the room, near a pair of jeans and boots that Bucky is sure he doesn’t own, a phone screen is lit up in the pile. “Apologies sir, I was worried you had an episode.”

“An episode,” he deadpans, “Really, J?”

“You’ve been staring at Sgt. Barnes for several minutes without a reaction, I was concerned,” the detached voice drawls in a way that is almost eighty percent sarcastic and a hundred percent not-actually-concerned.

“Sorry for taking a moment to appreciate the art,” Tony retorts, and Bucky tries not to be pleased, though it’s hard when Tony breeches the bare space between them, hand cupping Bucky’s hip.

“Forgiven, I’m sure,” the voice drawls.

“Forgiven nothing,” Tony says, fingers caressing and tugging in tedium until they’re flush against each other. “Send breakfast up. We’ve worked up an appetite.” His whiskey gold eyes are hooded as the silken skin of their dicks brush against each other in a slide too purposeful to be accidental, especially as Tony hooks his leg over Bucky’s hip. “And we’re about to do it again.”

“I assume I’m cancelling your appointments today?” Jarvis asks dryly.

“You assume correctly,” and the screen blacks out in apparent agreement, Tony drags his hand across his mouth, pink tongue winking at him between his digits before he takes them both in hand.  

Bucky can’t suppress his shudder and Tony shoots him a small smile. “I’m sorry, where were we?”

And then Bucky thinks stupidly, _no, Tony can stay forever._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing such a fic, go easy on me?
> 
> [Click here if you want to find out more about my work](https://everything-withered.tumblr.com/)


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